Under Control…
Part Seven
He woke up around half an hour later, surprised that he was
able to wake up. In fact, the more he shook off the fog in his brain and could
focus on the pain, he was increasingly more amazed that he wasn't dead. He was
also incredibly nauseous and he had the worst headache in his life.
The EMT had an oxygen mask on his face and a blood pressure cuff on his arm. He
was laying on the gurney, covered by a blanket and there were cops milling
around. He was still in the apartment's parking area, wondering...”How did you
know to find me here?”
“'Got a call from Batman, no less, said he was tied up with something but had
been trying to get a hold of you and you weren't answering so he checked your
location on a GPS. That's how.”
Figured. “Do you find the person...” He stopped, tore the mask off and leaned
over just fast enough to not barf on himself. Several times.
The EMT was there, holding him so he wouldn't fall and getting a towel or
something to wipe his face and mouth along with a bottle of water to rinse with.
“Shi...'Sorry.”
“'You done?”
“I think so, for now, anyway, thanks. Did they get the person...”
“Who tried to kill you? No, 'left by the time we got here.”
“They used chloroform, didn't they?”
The EMT looked up from his paperwork. “Yeah, how'd you know that?”
“I know what it smells like.” He swayed as he sat there.
“Common side-effect; dizziness and a really bad headache. You should be okay in
a little while, just keep breathing the oxygen and get that crap out of your
lungs.”
“Are the cops still here?”
“You kidding, with Robin almost killed? They just called in backup; you wanna
talk to them?”
He nodded and when Sergeant Foley came over he said, “I think that the person
who did this is Laura Gatling, she's the principal over at Brixton Academy and
she lives here in 3-A. I've been investigating her in connection with the
Brixton murders.” The man was an idiot, but if it was handed to him on a silver
platter and tied with a bow, maybe he could do something with it.
From any other fifteen year old he'd have laughed the kid silly and told him to
let the grownups do their jobs, but this was a long way from just any kid. “Don,
get a couple of men and we'll check her out. Robin, you want to go with them?”
The EMT broke in. “Not right now Officer, he's still recovering. He stands up
and he's gonna fall down, I guarantee it; besides the chloroform, he was close
to hypothermia. It's twenty-seven degrees out here, boys, let him recover,
okay?”
“I'm okay.” He started to move his arm to push himself up.
The EMT put a hand on his shoulder. “Stay.” He turned to his driver.”Advise that
we're ready to transport.”
“No. I mean I'd rather stay here.” Robin tried for polite but firm, but it
wasn't flying. Damn. “Sergeant? You might want to get a search warrant, too. She
might have a computer or something.” No point in broadcasting the fact that he
was inside without said warrant. The hero community was already catching flack
for playing a little fast and loose with the rules.
“Good idea, thanks, kid.”
He started to get up again.
The EMT put an end to that. “Sorry, Robin, standard procedure. You need to be
checked out in the ER and they'll decide what to do with you. The effects
haven't worn off yet and you may have some allergies or something. Sorry, but
this isn't up for debate. Besides, you're a minor, it'd be my job if I let you
go now.” The gurney was loaded into the back of the ambulance, the doors closed
and, with no recourse, they headed out for the ER.
He was in the for ER five hours before being released to Batman who arrived in
the Batmobile, causing practically the entire building to empty out to gawk. On
top of that, the media was, as usual, monitoring the police and emergency bands
and so were staked outside as well, inundating them with flashbulbs and
questions as they made their way to the car and away.
“Robin, you're all right? Nothing serious?”
“Batman, are you going to rethink letting Robin work on his own after this?”
“Is the person who blindsided you in custody?”
“Does this have anything to do with the Brixton murders?”
“Have you considered adding a sweatshirt to your costume for winter?”
“'Sorry guys, no comment other than to say I'm fine. Thanks for asking, good
night.”
***
For once, the drive home wasn't silent.. “Are you sure you're all right? I can
call Leslie in.”
“No need.”
“Did you find anything?”
Leave it to Bruce to take the word of a fifteen year old regarding his health at
face value. Robin lifted his head from the back of the seat. He was tired, he
had a headache and he was afraid that he was about to throw up again. “Yes, I
cracked her laptop—well, actually she left it opened, and she has this journal
or stream of consciousness thing that pretty much says why she did it. And her
finger prints match the ones I lifted off the bottle of chloroform in the Mech E
lab. She also pretty strongly implies that she was having an affair with Mr.
Smith to get him to help her, makes a couple of references to 'Jim' and 'Jimmy'
doing what she wants. 'Smith's first name was James.”
“Aside from the prints it's still circumstantial.”
“I don't think it will be that hard to get a confession if it's handed right.”
Batman glanced to his right. “Why's that?”
“Because she feels superior to people in Brixton and thinks that all the kids
are spoiled and entitled. It's making her angry and that's why she's been
killing rich kids. She'll talk to why show she was justified and make sure
people understand why she felt compelled to take things into her own hands.”
“What things, that the kids who go to Brix come from money?”
“That's part of it, the other part is that she seems to believe that she was
being patronized to by the community. In fact,. Your name was mentioned; she was
angry because you end-ran her about funding the science renovations. Besides
that, she had heavy expenses and I suspect that she was bankrupting herself
trying to keep up with some of the conspicuous consumption around here.”
“But there weren't any extortion attempts to gain her money that I know of. What
did she stand to gain?”
“Revenge.”
“So, she'll get a slap on the wrist as criminally insane.” Batman hated when
that happened, it was too common a story in their careers.
“Not completely, she'll be incarcerated for murder and there will probably be
some civil suits. Did I remember to tell you that I also have her prints tied to
the dumpster and on the door to the kitchen at school.”
“There are reasons that they could be there.”
Dick gave him a look. “Yeah, sure; like the principal takes out the garbage and
was making herself a sandwich.”
Alfred was waiting for them, his concern plain though he'd never admit it beyond
how this would put his dusting and vacuuming schedule hopelessly behind. His
relief when Dick got out of the car under his own power was obvious. “I trust
that all's well?”
“It will be as soon as the police see what's on Gatling's laptop.” Dick was
already removing his mask and cape, toeing off his pixie boots. “I'm going to
take a shower and then hit the sack. 'Later.”
When he'd left Alfred handed Bruce the customary turkey sandwich and cup of
coffee. “He's still feeling the effects of being ambushed the way he was.”
“He's fine, he said so himself.” He ignored the exasperation from Alfred by
pretending to be engrossed by whatever was on the monitor. “What I don't
understand was how she managed to overpower him.”
“Perhaps she simply surprised him. Didn't he say that he was just finishing up,
was undoubtedly cold and was trying to get away as quickly as possible.” He
uncovered Dick's uneaten snack and helped himself to the ham and cheese on
wheat, hold the mayo. “And I point out that this is hardly the first time that
he's been taken unawares. Dr. Thompkins has expressed concern to me about
possible future problems from Parkinson's. I strongly suggest that you
concentrate on that particular problem in future training. Sessions.”
“Parkinson's? ...I guess he does tend to get hit over the head more than I'd
like.” Bruce, cowl thrown back, nodded. “'Not a bad idea.”
Up in his room Dick stared in the mirror while he waited for the hot water to
come up. He hadn't told Bruce about the section in Gatling's laptop he'd
deleted, the part about him.
The Wayne kid—Grayson, that's his name, he's next. As god is my witness, he's
next. Wayne needs to learn that he can't control everything, he can't buy
everything and money doesn't smooth out everything. 'Bought himself a pretty son
to make him look good, make him seem like Saint Bruce, giving a home to a damn
waif—screw that.
This one will be my favorite. Tomorrow, I think.
Bruce would have a fit if he knew he'd been targeted and so would Alfred. There
wasn't anything to be gained by having them upset and taking this personally.
Nothing at all. And it wasn't like this was the first time it had ever happened,
nor would it likely be the last.
It just...was.
His headache, which had been fading, was back with a vengeance. He popped four
extra strength Advil's and hoped for the best.
An hour later Batman and Robin were contacted to advise them that Laura Gatling
was in custody on suspicion of murder in the cases of Amy Stanford, Dave
Metcalf, Steve Blanding (the kid in Akhram Acres) and James Smith. DNA evidence
had been collected from the crime scenes and was continuing to be gathered from
the victims and now the prime suspect; hopes were high that they would add major
weight to the state's case against her.
The next day, soon to be ex-principal Gatling was still in custody without
possibility of bail, about to be questioned by the DA, they were just waiting
for her lawyer to arrive. Batman and Robin were invited to be there to observe
if they wanted.
“Dick, would you like to take a ride over?”
“No, thanks, but it's okay. I'm as sure as I can be that she's guilty and I'll
probably have to testify anyway. I'll get the whole story soon enough.”
“But you're the one who broke it.”
Dick shrugged. “It's not like it's my first case. I'm good staying here.
Besides, I have school.” Bruce didn't pursue it, if Dick didn't want to go, he
didn't have to. The police had the evidence and could handle it from here.
Maybe he was still feeling the effects of the chloroform, not that the kid would
admit it if he were.
In homeroom the rumors which had started last night (Brixton was a small town,
no matter what the average income was) were now out of control.
“Man, I heard that she was planning on eating their hearts.”
“She had bottles of human blood in her fridge, my sister said her boyfriend is
friends with one of the Brix cops who arrested her and he saw them himself.”
“She even charged the chloroform to the school; talk adding insult to injury.”
“Her resume was complete bullshit. She never even went to Harvard, let along
getting a Ph. D there.”
Dick just listened, none of that mattered. Amy, Dave, Mr. Smith—who was
seriously stupid or screwed up himself to go along with her—and the kid from the
Acres were all dead.
He should have been happy or proud or pleased that he'd been the one who'd
solved the crime; he was the one who cracked the case and that was good and he
was proud, but...
The day dragged, no work got done and the entire student body and faculty
basically just talked about everything; the murders, that it was probably their
principal, the losses. A lot of people cried.
It was a bad day.
But he knew that tomorrow would be a little better, as would the one after that.
Slowly, things would get better at Brixton, classes would resume for real this
week and they'd recover. The families affected wouldn't, of course, but things
would get back to normal, at least on the surface.
Back at the manor that afternoon Alfred handed Dick the plate of fresh and still
warm cookies.
“Thanks—comfort food?”
“Whatever works, as you might say, master Dick. Might I ask why you're not more
pleased with the good work you did?”
He finished the first cookie. “It's like a lot of the cases we work. In fact,
this one bothers me more than most because it was so completely pointless. And
it was close to home; Dave's been in my classes since I moved here, he was a
good guy. It's just the waste, I guess, does that make any sense?”
“Of course, but surely you realize that you're not dealing with rational
people—the Joker, Harvey Dent, Catwoman and the rest, surely you've come to
understand that they're not in their right minds. With that as a given, one
can't really expect such things to make much sense, can one?”
“I know that, but...”
“The best one can hope for is containment. You did an admirable job, without
question you prevented others from the same fate as her unfortunate victims.” He
refilled Dick's milk glass. “It's natural for you to be upset about the very
real losses, but you also have every right—particularly at your young age, I
stress—to be proud of what you've done.”
“I know that, I am. I just keep thinking that maybe I could have stopped her
sooner.” Dick didn't say anything about him being on her short list of next in
line. He ate another of the cookies, they were incredibly good.
Teenagers, always so hard on themselves, everything a crisis.
“I believe that the expression you're looking for is the somewhat less than
articulate, shoulda, woulda, coulda. Come now, Master Dick, you know that you
make a difference and, may I say, if you're not aware of this then you're very
much in the minority. Batman and Robin make a difference, as do the Justice
League and your own Teen Titans. Heavens, even Master Superman has gone out of
his way on several occasions to sing your praises.”
“I know. You're right, I know you're right.” He reached for another cookie,
chewed for a moment and suddenly brightened. “Y'know, I was having trouble
sleeping last night—probably a leftover from being gassed or something—anyway, I
was looking through some of the old cases I've worked on and it was weird.”
“How so?”
“Well, seriously, there's pretty weird stuff that's gone down; giant coins,
dinosaurs, space aliens, Atlantis, megalomaniacs, nut-jobs trying to take over
the world. Weird stuff, and that doesn't take into account the run of the mill
hi-jackers, thieves, murderers, kidnappers and the rest. And we beat them
all—and that's before I can legally drive a car.”
“Yes, well I would think that you're memoirs will prove quite interesting one of
these days.”
The boy laughed, Alfred's goal for the moment. “Hell, it hasn't been boring and
that's no lie.” More laughter, “Yeah, I get where you're going, Alf, thanks. He
stood up, picked up his backpack and started out. “I'll make you a bet.”
“Will you, now?”
“I bet my memoirs make the best seller lists.”
“I don't take sucker bets, young man.”
8/22/09